His Consequence
by Kawi Leonard
Summary: 'Ya'aburnee, meaning "You bury me." It's a declaration of one's hope that they'll die before another person, because of how difficult it would be to live without them. Bakura and Marik are forced to work together in order to save themselves when the world is plunged to chaos- although Bakura played a hand in the doomsday more than Marik thinks. Thiefshipping zombie AU.
1. Chapter 1

"What are we going to do?"

The pen dropped from his hand, jumping at the voice. Irritation prickled inside him, and he turned his head.

"Does it look like I know?" His voice was harsh as he spoke to his younger colleague.

"You should know. You started this?"

"Well I don't. I have no fucking idea what to do right now."

There was silence. The youngest of the pair came forward- light shining on him. The room was pitch black, except for a small lamp on a messy desk. Possessions littered the floor- while papers and upturned ink stained the table. The lamp flickered- its bulb about ready to give up.

The youngest ran his hand through his blonde hair, alarm clear in his expression. But alarm and worry had been constant emotions in everyone who worked in the laboratory as of late. It was nothing new.

The other, with a frustrated sigh, banged his head against the desk, not bothering to lift it again. The blonde flinched, but didn't move.

"I don't even know how we got to this point."

"I don't think anyone does, Duncan." His voice was muffled by the papers pressed against his face. "But that's irrelevant. All we know is that we have a problem. It doesn't matter how it started. It matters how we end it."

Duncan sighed, grabbing a chair and pulling it up next to the other male, being careful not to tread on any of the possession on that floor. Taking a seat, he glanced at the papers. Hasty words and complicated equations inked the pages, but none of them had a conclusion.

"Douglas, I…" Duncan looked away, guilt feeling his expression. "We had a meeting earlier. Someone sent for you, but you didn't arrive. We came to some form of a… solution, if you will."

Douglas didn't look up- but Duncan knew he was listening.

"We did a few more tests on the strand of the virus… we found out something. Well, it wasn't me, it was-…"

"Get on with it, Duncan."

Duncan grew red with embarrassment, but pushed on.

"Yes. Well, we found out something. The virus- it's nature. It's very strange. It just wants to… feed. Feed on something. But it's not… hungry? That's the best way to put it- fuck scientific explanations. I'm tired of hearing them." His voice grew bitter. "It's not hungry- it'll settle for feed off one thing. Although, if it doesn't have something to feed off of, it'll keep trying to spread."

"What do you propose, then?"

"Well, we have the virus in the chamber on floor three. We get someone, put them into the chamber, the virus attacks them, and doesn't spread. It'll be happy with one host."

This time, Douglas did look up. However, before he could speak, there was a knock at the door. He turned his head, and narrowed his eyes.

"What are you doing here, Seth?" He recognised the man instantly- his long, thick, white hair instantly recognisable. Impatience touched him lightly. Although Seth worked hard, he had yet to earn the respect of most people in the laboratory.

"I need to speak to you."

"Well, it can wait." Douglas turned back around, eyes wide as he looked at Duncan. "Are you seriously telling me we're going to sacrifice someone's life for this? The person will _die, _Duncan. Do you want that blood on your hands?"

A flash of anger touched Duncan's expression, and his mouth curved into a frown.

"One life compared too many. If we don't hurry up, this virus is going to start to spread. With all due respect, I don't think you understand the magnitude of this situation!"

Douglas was on his feet in an instant, matching the blonde's anger.

"I _do _understand!" He hissed. "I understand more than you! I just don't want to kill someone!"

"People will DIE regardless if we don't do this! You want a solution, we have one! We all wished it wouldn't come to this, but it has!"

Douglas kicked the chair away from him in a fit of rage- toppling it, crunching a few of the items of the floor. Stamping forward, he came to a halt at the window, staring out at it with increasingly narrowed eyes.

"Even if your plan works, where are we going to get someone like that?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "The person we need has to be young- young enough to be the host of the virus for years to come. Young, fit, and healthy. Where are we going to find someone like that, willing to give up their life for this?"

Duncan sighed, the anger vanishing from him too.

"We don't know."

At that, Seth cleared his throat. Both men turned around, as if forgetting the white-haired male's presence.

"What do you want, Seth?" Duncan's voice was quiet, but impatient.

"I actually came to talk to you about earlier." He began. "I was in the meeting- and I agree with you, Duncan."

"That's nice, and thank you. And if you're quite finishe-…"

"No, wait! You don't understand. I agree with you, and I think I can help!"

Douglas and Duncan both turned around properly, eyes wide.

"I have a son! His name is Ryou. He's exactly what you need. He's young- only sixteen. He's incredibly healthy, athletically fit… he'd be so perfect for what you need!"

Duncan and Douglas expression turned to horror and shock. Although Duncan's held a glimmer of excitement.

"Seth, do you ever understand what you're saying? That's your son you're talking about!" Douglas was the first to speak.

"I understand completely, Sir. And I know he's my son. But think about it! If I volunteered Ryou, he would save the world! _I _would save the world!"

Duncan's expression lost most of it shock, now excitement filling with completely. Douglas, however, was still sickened.

"You're offering up your son like a lamb to the slaughter! What sort of father are you, if you're willing to kill him?!"

Seth narrowed his eyes, voice growing a little angry.

"You have no right to judge me. I have another son- Bakura. He's nineteen. It's not like I will be left childless, is it?"

Douglas opened and closed his mouth like he couldn't believe what he was hearing, but Duncan had already walked towards Seth, shaking his hand almost violently.

"Thank you, thank you, and thank you!" His face was spread into a grin. "You're contribution won't go overlooked, I promise you! We'll raise your pay, you'll get a promotion- fuck it, you can have two promotions!"

Seth's face lit up with joy, eyes sparkling as he soaked up the attention.

Douglas wanted to speak, but he couldn't. Wanted to move, but he couldn't. Wanted to object to this, but his voice was gone. With a sigh, he closed his mouth, and turned back towards the window, his heart heavy.

It really was none of his business. And this Ryou boy- he wouldn't die for nothing. He would be saving the world, after all. His sacrifice would be for six billion people. And if his father approved, what else could he do?

He let his eyes slip shut. Maybe they were going to save the world with this boy- but was the world really worth saving, when fathers willingly gave up their children so easily?

* * *

"This birthday cake is bad, and you should feel bad."

"Bakura, I made that for you."

"Ryou, I know you made it for me. I can tell, because it doesn't actually look like a fucking cake."

"I spent like, three hours on that! You're so rude."

"And you're really fucking annoying."

"Ow! Don't punch me!"

"Don't do stupid things that deserve a punch, then."

"Muuum!"

"Ryou, you're sixteen. If you keep calling out for mum, your fucking sex life is going to go downhill."

"_BAKURA_!"

There was a sound of a scuffle, and as usual, in several seconds, Bakura came out on top. Mostly because his younger brother actually refused to fight back and just flopped on the floor like a total pacifist at every opportunity, but he still won.

As Bakura prepared to sit on Ryous back, trapping him, he heard the door open, and looked up to see his mother peering in.

"What are you doing?" Her voice was stern, but held a note of amusement. Ryou looked up, eyes wide.

"Bakura tackled me because I gave him a present!"

Bakura tutted, using a hand to push Ryous head back down.

"It was not a present. That tragic mess of ingredients on a plate was not a fucking present, Ryou."

"Bakura, get off of your brother. You're nineteen now. You'd think you would have grown up a little." His mother complained.

Bakura shot her a moody glare, debating about rebelling, but instead, he very slowly got to his feet, turning around to nudge Ryou with his foot.

"Now thank your brother for his cake." His mother leaned against the doorframe, eyebrows raised.

"For the last fucking time, it wasn't a cake, it was a-…"

"_Bakura_."

Bakura huffed in frustration, and nudging Ryou again with his foot, he very reluctantly offered grumbled thanks, which didn't sound very thankful at all.

"Thank you." His mother's voice was sweet, and she turned around. "Now play nice, I'll be in the living room."

Bakura clicked his tongue in acknowledgment, watching with a mocking expression as Ryou pulled himself up, shaking some dust off of him. His white hair- thinner than Bakura's, although still quite thick- fell back into place with ease, and his eyes looked up to glare at Bakura.

"I'm not going to apologize for calling mum."

Bakura laughed- his body losing some of its tension and relaxing. Although he and Ryou were almost the same height- save for a few inches on Bakura's side, he patted his head condescendingly.

"I'm not going to ask you too." He turned away from his brother, taking a seat at the island-counter they had in their kitchen.

The not-really-a-cake was in front of him, and if Bakura was a happier person, he probably would have smiled at the attempt. Things between him and Ryou had never been easy. When they were younger, they fought for the attention of their parents- Bakura being a naturally dominant and selfish person, while Ryou had a more of an innocent look about him, which often attracted affection. In the past, Bakura blamed Ryou for the root of his anger issues. His constant bad moods and temper that would burst at any moment.

But, as they began to age- Ryou reaching sixteen, while Bakura was nineteen today- their arguments softened. The days of hate were behind them- and while Bakura still retained his anger and general moodiness, they had come to tolerate their existence.

Ryou sat in the chair beside him, handing him a fork and plate. Taking the fork, although ignoring the plate, Bakura jabbed it at the side of the cake, twisting it and pulling of a piece.

Light blue icing covered a spongy center, and with an apprehensive frown, Bakura put it in his mouth, chewing it two or three times, before swallowing it.

It tasted… okay, actually. It didn't burn his mouth or make him throw up, like he expected. Just tasted like cake. Despite its outwards appearance, it was pretty nice to the taste buds.

"What do you think?" Ryou asked; his voice was a little squeaky.

"May not look like cake, but it tastes like cake." Bakura confirmed.

Ryou's face lit up with a smile.

"Happy birthday, Bakura."

"Thanks, brat."

* * *

"Never seen the likes of you before in here, now have I?"

Seth jumped. The room he was in was dark- with a single, flickering light giving the occasional burst of light. It was incredibly stuffy, heat surrounding him, pressing against his thick clothes.

"No, I, Uh, I'm a first time customer."

A man was standing behind a rough wooden counter, leaning against it on his elbows. A greasy mop of hair twisted around his rather round head, which was glistening with a large amount of anxious sweat. His small eyes narrowed in suspicious, his pig like nose twitching with distrust.

"Well, we don't like people who ain't regulars here, so whas' your business then?"

The man looked Seth up and down, a small, grubby eyebrow raising a little, his mouth curving into a mocking sneer.

"Whas' the likes of you being in here, with your fancy scientist coat and pens in ye' pocket? Come to rub ye' fancy job in the face of the less fortunate? It ain't welcome 'ere."

Seth looked alarm, and took a step back.

"Nothing like that, I assure you, sir." He adjusted the glasses that rested on his nose, attempting to lose any pompous manners around him. "I'm here looking to buy, you see. A safety precaution, if you must."

"Safety precaution?" The shopkeep raised an eyebrow. "Well, if you're lookin' around for guns and stuff to deal a fair amount of damage, I'm afraid we don't sell 'em here. We sell more… dramatic 'tings."

Seth laughed nervously.

"Actually, I'm looking for a bigger selection of… dramatic things, as you put them." He looked away. "My son always had a taste for being the center of attention. This'll probably fit him."

"You're shoppin' for ye' son in a place like this? What kind'a fatha' are you?"

Seth couldn't help it- he bristled. He'd heard enough back at the laboratory about 'what sort of father he was'. Frustration coursed through him- in that moment, he felt like he couldn't do anything right. Giving up his child to science was bad, while trying to protect his other was also bad. He was tempted to walk out the shop in that very moment, but he managed to stop himself.

"I have my reasons." His voice was rather curt.

"I'm sure ya' do, Sir, if you'll follow me."

And that was that. The chubby shopkeep lead the nervous scientist around the back, opening an old, creaking door, letting him step through, before following him, closing it behind him gently. More darkness awaited them- before the room was lit up in a red glow.

The scientist spent hours in the shop, in the red room. Looking at weapons- each a different type, each shape different, and each colour tone different. So much variety- all one goal. For protection. For a security precaution.

The greasy man stood in the corner- not speaking, just observing. He had his own thoughts. It wasn't every day that a man of importance came to purchase his wares. If they did, it meant something was coming. Something big- something they weren't telling them about.

There was silence. There was an extreme amount of silence as the world hung in the balance. The shop was the middle point of fate of the world at that very moment. Everything in life had been leading up to this very moment, while everything that would come when he returned home would be the beginning of the continue, or the end.

And when Seth finally made his choice- and the man pulled the blade from off the shelf, wrapped it up and bagged it, the scientist still didn't know which way it would go. All he knew was that he would have to be prepared for the very best, or the very worse.

And when he exited the shop and Seth felt the cold air finally hit him, he expected the situation to dawn on him. He expected to have feeling return to him, and for everything to slot into space.

But, it did not. And as he climbed into his car, he felt much like he did at the start of the day.

Focused on work. Determined to do his best for his profession. Nothing would get in the way of his greedy ambition- not even family.

* * *

"I guess dad isn't coming home."

Bakura glanced up- his brother's voice pulling him out of a hazy daydream. It took him a couple of moments to focus his eyes- and he realised that maybe he was a little more asleep than he realised. Turning his head in direction to Ryou, he was a little surprised to see concern and sadness in his brown eyes.

"Are you surprised?" Bakura's voice was heavy with sleep, and it shocked himself a little when he heard it. "It's not like he's ever made a fucking effort to come home on time, is it?"

Ryou shook his head slowly, agreeing in silence. It was a few minutes before he spoke again, and when he did, he was a little hesitant.

"I just thought, since it was your birthday, he might have made an effort."

Bakura snorted.

"When has he ever before?" With a wide yawn, he sunk lower into his chair, lifting his long legs and resting them on the coffee table in front of him. Ryou sat on the floor to his side, doodling away on a piece of paper to keep him busy. Although his younger brother wasn't particularly talented at drawing, it was a hobby, and day by day, Ryou was improving.

Bakura rested his eyes on Ryou for a couple of minutes, tracing his younger brother's hair slowly. While Bakura made sure to keep his at a length that was quite long- or though not _too _long, Ryou was content to let his grow. It hung down to his waist almost, and despite its length, it was still incredibly thick and fluffy. It took Ryou a while to clean and wash it, but he didn't seem to mind.

Ryou hummed again in agreement, and the two brothers lapsed into silence again. A few months ago, silence between them was rare, nothing but angry words filled between them. But now? They could simply sit in each other's presence, maybe not enjoying it, but tolerating it.

"You don't seem to care, Bakura."

"That's because I don't. Not in the fucking slightest."

A heartbeat passed.

"You don't care about a lot of things, do you, Bakura?"

Bakura let his own eyes slip shut, rubbing small circles on his temples with slight frustration. Tiredness continued to tug on his bones, and he doubted he had the energy to carry on a conversation without it turning sour.

"I don't." He said simply. "I really fucking don't."

Ryou suddenly twitched his head to the side- eyes darting towards the door. Within the next second, a loud banging echoed down the hallway, and Bakura narrowed his eyes in a mixture of confusion and anger. Normally, his father would stay out all night at his work. He would never actually come home after being late.

"Bakura? Ryou?"

Ryou was on his feet in an instant, abandoning his work and opening the living room door- disappearing towards the front door. Bakura, however, didn't stand. If anything, the albino simply sunk lower into the chair.

He heard a distant mumbling, but he didn't rise. He heard footsteps approaching the door, but he didn't move. Even when father and son entered the room, his eyes seemed to simply glaze over, not caring much.

"Bakura, happy birthday!"

Bakura turned his head, watching his father in complete silence, scarlet eyes piercing and… dull. His father didn't seem to care, however, and simply strode forward, coming to a halt just in front of Bakura. In his hand was a fancy looking thick bag- no patterns littered the front of it, and it seemed to have a very odd instrument inside of it.

"That's a fucking sorry excuse for a birthday bag." He finally spoke, casting a sideways glance at Ryou. "It's almost as fucking pitiful as his birthday cake."

He father took no notice of his words- simply thrusting his 'present' further forward- forcing Bakura to grab it, lest it fall into his lap.

Instead of grabbing the bag, however, he grabbed the strange looking handle that was sticking out at the very tip of it- a pure white and ridged, golden bands framed the top and bottom of it, with indents that looked like something to hold.

The bag fell to the floor as he gripped it, and with a wide eyed grimace, he realised he was holding _a fucking katana in his fucking hands. _

Real as day, the sword stretched and curved ahead him as it was revealed. He stood rather gingerly, finding the weapon painfully awkward to accommodate around. He heard a small gasp from Ryou- and he fucking understood his brother. What the fuck was he holding _a FUCKING KATANA FOR? _

He opened his mouth to speak, but found that words were beyond him. He kicked his chair behind him a little bit, giving himself more room- before raising his new… weapon? No, his new fucking thing that he really couldn't imagine a use for.

"You brought me a sword." The words came from his mouth without much consent, and without thinking about it, he raised it a little. "Why the fuck did you buy me a sword?"

His father brought his hands together, smiling a little, looking oddly peaceful, and yet _nervous as fuck._

"Well, I was a little stuck on what to buy you this year, Bakura. I thought about a couple of things- you know, basic stuff. A new iPod- I know how much you use yours. Money, CDS, books, but you know… I wanted something special! And you're a very dramatic boy, Bakura. I thought you'd appreciate something more… out there."

"Dad, it's a fucking sword."

His father pulled his collar back a little nervously, and for the first time, Bakura realised how… strange his father was acting. He was so calm and peaceful… But at the same time, he looked like he was going to explode from nerves. Sweat dripped down his forehead, and he kept shifting, eyes darting to Ryou rather desperately, as if he was going to escape somewhere.

Suspicious pricked Bakura.

"Yes, well, it is. Now, excuse me for a moment. Ryou, could you come with me?"

Pale hand encased a skinny wrist, and in a heartbeat, his father had yanked Ryou quite painfully from the room, leaving Bakura alone, awkwardly holding his _fucking sword._

He was about to inspect the strange gift a little more when he noticed a sheet of paper on the floor. Leaning down and picking up the bag that held his strange gift, he found something that looked like a sheath. It was equally as plain white as the… handle thing… of the weapon. (Bakura made a mental note to research the new addition to his possessions.) Awkwardly shoving it into the sheath, he rested it against the sofa, watching it for a few seconds to make sure it was going to stay up.

When he was certain it would, he turned around, crossing the living room in a few long-legged steps, leaning down and picking up the grubby piece of a paper with a slight frown on his face.

The paper was covered in quick scrawls, and he glanced up a little when he heard a sudden angry slam of a door. He grimaced at the sound, before looking back down, eyes scanning the words.

It took him a few times to process what he was reading- and even when words began to come into focus, it took him several seconds to finally understand the words that stained the aged paper.

_I, Seth [REDRACTED],_

Bakura blinked. Why was his father keeping his second name a secret? He shrugged. Didn't matter.

_Hereby sign this consent form that my son, Ryou [REDRACTED], is to be used as a volunteer to help further scientific research. As the parental guardian of him, I have assured his consent._

Bakura's stomach twisted painfully.

_I will bring him into the laboratory on the night of Decemeber 1__st__. He will be briefed, and then be put to use._

The paper slipped from his hand.

It fell to the floor in a horrible, aching silence. The silence that grew in your bones and infected your ribcage- strangled your heart and choked the words that could save you. Rotted your teeth and tore out your hair, slit your throat and stole whatever you had left to own.

The slamming door he heard suddenly seemed so much more significant. The way his father clung to Ryou and dragged him out the door. The way Bakura's chest was heaving with a mixture of rage and dread and the way his blood began to boil and stir within his veins.

He shook. He shook and trembled and he didn't fucking know why but his hand shot straight to the sheathed weapon that suddenly felt like his lifeline. He fiddled with it for a moment, turning it in his hands until he found a strange metal clasp at the back of it. Pulling off his shirt, he pulled the metal clamps apart and pierced the fabric of his shirt- the two sides coming together and locking on the other side.

He pulled at it a little- but the sheath stayed on the back of the shirt pretty well- and he thanked fuck for the thick fabric of it- and without another word he pulled it back over his head. It felt heavy and he knew it would take a while for him to adjust to it, but he didn't care. He didn't fucking care about anything right now. All he knew was that Ryou was fucking gone, and he wasn't safe. He wasn't safe in the sick hands of his work-fucking-obsessed _bastard _of a father.

Sword in sheath, Bakura tore from the living room- slamming the door behind him without caring how much sound he made. He didn't care if he woke his mother. He didn't care, he didn't care, he didn't care.

He glanced sideways into the kitchen as he passed- catching a glance at the cake that Ryou had made. The sigh only spurred him to move faster, and with an angry snarl, he reared his leg and kicked the front door open- leaving a sizeable dent in it.

The cold air hit him immediately, and his breaths were quick and shallow enough to drink it in instantly. Filling his lungs and breaching into every inch of his bloodstream, his scarlet eyes flashed as he watched the car that held his brother and father speed far ahead of him- heading towards its final, sick destination.

"Ryou." The words fell from his tongue in an instant. "I won't let him take you."

His body trembled.

"I won't let them take you."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/n: Hello guys. Thank you for reading my story. I don't like author notes too much, but I suppose I should clear a few things up. Mostly for the sake of my readers. This chapter is very gore-filled. As is the rest of the fanfiction. It is, after all, about a zombie apocalypse. So if you get freaked out easily, I'm warning you now.**

**Also, before anyone says anything, **_**yes **_**this is Thiefshipping. However, I think Marik will come into this next chapter. This is about Bakura and Marik, yes, but this isn't just mindlessly about the ship. This has a plot that I am in love with, and can't wait to explore. So don't worry. You'll get your 'feels' soon enough. But humour me and let me get on with the plot. Like I said, Marik will be in the next chapter.**

**I can't think of what else to say. Thank you for those who are reviewing. I hope you all had a good Christmas, and have a great new year.**

* * *

Bakura couldn't breathe.

But oh, how he could. He stole shallow and harsh breaths from the over-bearing night sky so easily. Tore them free and suffocated them in his lungs with grace and arrogance. His trembling chest rose and fell in time to his own violent heartbeat- a vicious beating that synchronised to every moment of his feet.

He was running. His feet were nothing but a blur as they moved across the cold, frosty pavement. He could barely feel his own body moving- all he was aware of was the feeling of his muscles shifting and overlapping, limbs moving in quick and swift movements. He didn't feel the ground beneath his feet, but he could taste the sky above his head.

Silence followed him. It could have been the speed that he was travelling at- but he found that even when he passed places of noise, silence plagued him. But at the same time, everything was so deafeningly loud. His own feet- the very air that surrounded him, the moon in the sky and the stars that scattered around it. Everything was so fucking loud but it wasn't loud enough, because it was silent.

His feet slowed. He worried for a moment, before realising where he was- and realising how far he'd run. When he came to a bit more of a halt, he became so much more aware of his physical form. A little too much, one could say, as he suddenly felt the floor come up to meet his knees, a splintering stitch attacking and ravaging his side. Clutching at it, he evened his breathing while attempting to stay upright.

It took him a couple of minutes, but he very much managed it. He was still on his knees, but it was better than being slumped over. When his eyes swam into focus and he looked up, he felt a dash of sick relief touch him when he realised that he was finally at his destination.

The huge, foreboding building that had stolen his father away stood in front of him. It looked very much like a hospital- apart from its pitch black walls and narrowed windows. Broken down and half-cared for, it wasn't a pretty sight in the slightest.

A road stretched alongside it, and across it, laid a field. An old farmer tended to it- planting all sorts of evergreen plants over the years. It was certainly a stark contrast to the facility that was besides it.

Bakura tried to push himself to his feet, and his heart skipped a sudden beat as his hands gave in underneath him, ending with him collapsing quite painfully on the floor. Cheek against bare concrete, he shuddered as the icy cold crept under his skin.

He pressed his palms to the floor again, but found that even the small action sent shocks of pain through him- and not matter how much he tried, he only depleted his energy further.

His physical body began to swim out of his own awareness, and with a small huff and half-hearted attempt to get up again, he was unable to fight it any longer. Reality began to slip out of his fingertips, and as a mixture of shock and exhaustion stole away his every being, Bakura had no choice but to submit to it.

* * *

Bakura found it hard to accept that he was awake.

It was a mixture of tiredness and general disinterest in the waking world. Fingers curled into claws against the frosty pavement as he felt cold air work its way into his lungs. His scarlet eyes flickered open, although he did not move. His breath billowed in front of him in smoky clouds, pale against the dark grey concrete that had bedded him.

Realising he was on his side, with a grunt of effort, he moved himself until he fell onto his back, hesitating a little before stretching his limbs out. Each ached with horrible pain, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through it.

Sliding his hands out behind him and exerting a little force, he pushed himself up until he was sitting, taking a moment to catch his breath. His left side was covered in grit and gravel, and he brushed it off. He wanted nothing more than to fall back down and steal more hours of rest, but memories were slowly ticking back into his head, events that had passed before _he _passed out falling into place.

"Ryou."

His throat was dry and his voice croaked, but the word tasted healthy and thick on his tongue. It gave him the spurt of energy he needed to finally pull himself to his feet, and combatted the vertigo that hit him shortly after. He was still on his feet for a few minutes, before taking a few hesitant steps and turning around, the laboratory coming into his blurry vision.

The building made his heart drop, and it felt like someone had briefly put an extreme amount of force on his chest, but he disregarded it. He disregarded it because no matter how scared _he_ was, he was a stronger person than Ryou. He didn't want to _think_ about how his brother was feeling. He _couldn't._

Something guided his feet to movement, and for the life of him, he didn't know what it was. All he knew was that soon the freezing cold air that was covering him in ice soon vanished, parting from him skin and being replaced with… numbness.

The air that greeted him wasn't cold. But it wasn't warm, not in the slightest. It was just as Bakura thought at first- numb. It was the only way to describe it. There was no breeze from open doors, no gentle blowing from fans. It was completely and utterly still.

And Bakura didn't like it one bit.

Glancing outside, he realised that he must have slept through the majority of the night, and some of the morning, as the winter sun was steadily climbing the dull sky. At a guess, it must have been maybe an hour past noon. With a jolt, Bakura was even further unnerved by the stillness of the facility he was in. Where were the workers?

He turned back around, and took note of his surroundings. He was currently in a small area that looked a bit like a reception, but was painfully bare. A desk stood in one corner, while chairs littered it. A few were upturned, and the desk looked haphazardly left with belongings scattered along it, as if someone had left in a rush.

Pristine, white double doors guarded a long corridor that was just visible through glass panes, but Bakura delayed a little before heading towards them. Covering the distance in a few long-legged strides, he was standing at the front of the desk in an instant.

He pushed some of the worthless possessions away, rooting through the thick pile. There were pens and pencils and scraps of paper; calculators with smashed screens and what looked like a broken potted plant, spewing mud across the table. A few coins littered at the very bottom of the mess, and Bakura hastily pulled them into his palm, grimacing as he realised there were only a couple of pound coins. All the same, he shoved them in his pocket.

He was a little aware that he was delaying the whole ordeal, but he pushed the thought away as he finally headed towards the doors. He pushed one of them open, slipping into the room quietly and dropping into a crouch instantly, expecting to be face with people.

But, the room was just as empty as the last, and he hesitantly straightened out again.

His t-shirt hung a little awkwardly from his skinny frame, and he pulled it a little until it fell back into place. He'd almost forgotten about the sword on his back, and he grimaced as he remembered it. It felt awkward as hell and he didn't even know why he'd need it, but he couldn't bring himself to part with it for whatever stupid fucking reason.

He was faced with a long corridor that stretched into what looked like an elevator, while branching off in several different points. He started towards the end of the hall, although halted in his tracks at the sudden intrusion of noise.

He was quiet for a moment, pinpointing the origin of it. It sounded like it was coming from a room that was next to the elevator, and he silently cursed. The room lacked a door, just an arch, meaning he had no choice but to confront the people inside… somehow.

He glanced helplessly around. He preferred to sneak past things rather than have confrontations, but it looked like he had no choice. Covering the distance as quickly as he could, he stopped just beside the door, crouching.

His back, however, knocked against the wall, his sword giving off a strange pang. He winced, biting his lip in frustration as the voices stopped. His eyes remained shut as he prepared to have two angry scientists at him, but to his immense relief, after a minute of deadly silence, they returned to talking.

Bakura instantly grabbed the sword of his back from his sheath, and glared at it angrily. He wanted nothing more than to snap the useless object, but before he could put any violent urges into actions, he had a flash of an idea.

The sword was stupid, and he had no real idea how to use it yet, but the people in there didn't know it. In fact, the people in there didn't know anything about him. All he had to do was barge in there, raising his sword, and he was pretty sure he'd scare the shit out of them.

It was a reckless idea, yes, but it was the only one he had. Sneaking past would get him caught straight away, and besides, he might even be able to reason with them. All they had to do was give him information about his brother.

He snorted.

He pulled himself to his feet, sword still in hand, sidestepping in front of the door. He saw what he expected- two scientists standing and talking, their surroundings as messy as the reception. For a split moment, neither of them noticed Bakura's presence, but that moment passed, and both of them turned, expressions identical in shock.

One of them backed up, clearly noticing the sword in Bakura's grasp, while the other seemed frozen. The albino took a step forward, scarlet eyes flashing as he felt rage run through his veins, scorching his body.

"Where's my brother?" The words were snarled. He knew the scientists wouldn't know what he was talking about, but hell, Bakura's father hadn't been wrong. The albino was an incredibly dramatic person, and maybe he was indulging himself a little bit.

The scientist that had backed up opened his mouth to speak, but words seemed to fail him. Bakura advanced again, raising the sword a little more, mouth curving into a sneer.

"Answer me." He hissed, taking a final step forward. He yelped in surprise, however, when the floor beneath him suddenly felt unsteady, and he realised a little too late that he'd stood on a stack of papers that had been strewn across the floor.

His legs wobbled and with a grimace he managed to catch himself and right himself at the last moment, but not before he heard a tear of fabric, and a screech of pain. His head snapped up instantly, and this time, he found himself taking a step back.

It seemed that when he'd tripped, the sword in his hand had descended with him. It had managed to score along the stomach of the scientist close to him, blood welling from the rip in his skin.

It seemed to kick-start him out of shock, anyway.

The bleeding scientist began to scream, more blood welling at the surface of the wound, and Bakura flinched against the noise. At this rate, the entire fucking staff force here was going to be descending. It didn't help that the injured man's companion was starting to make equal noises of distress.

And in that moment, Bakura panicked. He panicked horribly so. All he knew was that a mixture of his clumsiness and dramatic ways was leading him to losing the only chance to save his brother. He was losing his only chance and as the realisation hit him, it drowned his lungs and tore through every vein in his body; he was suffocating because it was his fault, he wasn't going to save Ryou and he couldn't do this and-…

His hand suddenly lifted, sword whipping through the air with an odd noise. Before he had time to realise what he was doing, he'd plunged the cold, unforgiving metal into the hollow of the screaming scientists throat, effectively cutting of any noise he was making beforehand.

Bakura yanked back his sword, letting it fall to his side as he watched in some sort of twisted silence as the man gurgled. Blood bubbled at the wound in his throat, and he collapsed backwards, awkwardly half-falling onto the desk, and half sliding down the wall. Bakura thought he should look away, but he was so enraptured in the moment.

_He _had caused that. _He _had given that grievous wound. With only a flick of his hand, he'd ended a life. His chest gave a funny little flutter. He felt… like a _god. _With his sword in hand, he could choose who lived and who died. He could give life and allow it to continue, or he could take it all away. And it was all up to him.

So when Bakura turned to the next scientist, who had tears staining his cheeks, he wasn't panicking. When he raised his sword, it was sure and powerful, as if he'd held the weapon his entire life. It was more of an extension of his body, rather than a completely separate object.

"Where's my brother?" His voice was quiet.

The man was blubbering now, eyes red and crinkled. Blonde hair fell in his eyes, and he desperately flicked it away, backing up.

"I don't know what to tell you!" His voice was squeaky. "I don't know!"

"My brother's name is Ryou. My father's is Seth. Seth brought Ryou here today, or last night." He raised his weapon a little. "Where is he?"

A strange expression crossed the man's face, and almost instantly, his blubbering stopped. He suddenly straightened up, a certain defiance echoing in his eyes.

"My name is Douglas, y-…"

"I don't give a fuck about your name!" Bakura's voice lifted from smooth quiet to a feral screech.

"Your brother is on chamber three. Take the elevator. It'll lead you to him."

That was all Bakura needed. That was all he needed at all. He didn't think about his next steps. He didn't think as he crossed the distance between them in a single stride, and his thoughts were only of pleasure and fulfilment as he raised his weapon, driving it through the chest of the scientist.

The metal slicked through the flesh with ease, and when Bakura withdrew it, blood coated his blade, while the scarlet liquid bubbled at the wound. The man opened his mouth like a gaping fish for a moment, before the pain overtook his body, and his eyes glazed over, completely blank, falling next to his companion.

Shoving his sword back in the sheath, Bakura ducked besides the bodies, not caring as his converse shoes soaked in the blood that pooled from them both, and dipped his hand into both their pockets.

The man with the slashed throat had nothing on him, and Bakura turned away, patting down the chest-wound body. He was about to give up when he felt something in one of the pockets, and he pulled it out.

It was a name badge. It had the words 'Douglas' inscribed on it, but it held no real interest for Bakura, so he dropped it onto the floor, getting back to his feet and turning around, leaving the two men to bleed out without a care in the world.

The elevator journey was uneventful, and it would waste time to dwell on it. No cheery music played, and the interior was blank. It made an odd trundling noise as it moved, which was a little alarming, but it got to its destination within reasonable time, and before Bakura knew it, he was standing in a very expansive room.

He couldn't quite believe his eyes at first. It was like he'd walked straight into the scene of some high budget film. The plain décor of downstairs made no sense whatsoever, in comparison to his current location.

The walls were grey and looked very much metal, with strange cracks in them. A large computer screen framed one wall, while the other on the opposite of the room was completely blank, nothing more than an intimidating wall.

The sides of the room had mixture- clusters of computer followed by desks, and then more computers. Occasionally there was a weird science-looking table that had test tubes and chemicals, and a few bookcases broke up the ordering.

He expected such a large room to be fairly filled with workers, but to his surprise, it was somewhat… empty.

And that's when he saw it for the first time.

He didn't know how the missed it, really. It was in the very center of the room, and dominated a large amount of space. Wires and tubes ran from the base like roots, making it look very… natural, and yet urban.

The massive glass tube stretched from the floor to the ceiling. It was exactly that. A glass chamber that seemed to house something. The glass, however, was strangely blurry and distorted, making it impossible to pick out. Whatever it was, it looked very much human, and seemed to be stumbling around. Some sort of sick fucking mutant experiment. Bakura turned away.

The elevator was fairly hidden in a dark indent in the wall on the side of the room, so Bakura was able to assess his situation rather easily. For the sake of it, he dropped into a crouch, drawing his weapon from his back. Blood fell from the blade and specked his shirt, but he didn't care.

From where he could see, one person was standing in front of the bizarre tube like chamber, seemingly taking notes. Three people were scattered around the room- one on the science tables, another on a computer, while the other was clearing up a small mess of papers.

"Bakura?"

Bakura jumped out of his _fucking _skin as the light was shut out of his vision, a tall figure standing in front of him. He clumsily raised his sword to hold in front of him in a lame attempt to show defence, but with a spurt of rage, he suddenly realised who was in front of him.

"You!" His snarled, but his voice was a whisper. He didn't want to attract the attention of everyone in the room yet. Freeing one hand, he grabbed his father by his collar, pulling back and slamming him against the wall, hiding them both in the indent. No one could seem them or hear them here, unless they made too much noise.

"Why did you follow me here?" His father seemed genuinely confused. "It's your birthday, you should be at home."

Anger ripped through Bakura at how stupid his parent was acting, and the hand that gripped his collar curled into claws.

"Where's Ryou?" His voice was still a whisper. "What have you done with him?"

Seth's eyes stretched wide with shock, and if he couldn't comprehend what Bakura was saying.

"Why do you care?" His voice was quiet also, but it still had that horribly honest confusion in it. "You and Ryou don't get on. Why did you rush out like this?"

Bakura barely restrained a laugh. This was just another example of how much of a great parent his father had been. True, before Seth had gotten a job at the laboratory, he'd spent all his time at home, and that had been around the years when Bakura and Ryou never stopped fighting and screaming.

But that had passed. They had bonded and grown almost close, but as this was happening, Seth had gotten his job and spent all his time away from home. Pitiful mistake. The truth flashed within Bakura in a moment, and it only angered him further. His father thought Bakura wouldn't try to save Ryou. He thought he could just take him? Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

"He's my brother." Bakura spat. "Just because you never spent time with us and never realised how close we are. That's your fucking mistake!"

"Bakura, you don't understand! Ryou is contributing to science!"

"He's a human being you _sick _fuck! He's _my _brother! And I'm taking him back!"

A sad expression crossed the taller man's face, and he shook his head agonizingly slowly.

"I can't let you do that, Bakura. I'm sorry."

The albino had heard enough. Dropping his father, he took his sword in both hands, raising it.

He supposed this entire scene should have been something _more. _A massive fight with a barely clear winner. Bakura emerging victorious splayed with blood and injuries as he raced to save his brother.

But it wasn't. Bakura's father was pinned against a wall, and weapon-less. Bakura had thick fury running through his veins and heating him into a frenzy. That familiar feeling invoked him- the _god _like feeling. The ability to take and give life as he wished.

Without that feeling, he felt weak. He felt stupidly _human _and pathetic and he NEEDED THAT FUCKING FEELING OR HE WAS GOING TO GO INSANE-…

Bakura raised his sword and drove it through his father's stomach, pulling it upwards and tearing the skin with ease. He realised with a jolt he was effectively gutting his father like a pig, and the phrase stuck in his head. He was gutting him like a pig. He was gutting the pig like a FUCKING PIG like he deserved.

Seth's mouth opened in a silent scream of pain, but it seemed his injuries stole his voice. Blood swelled at the wound, staining his shirt and dripping to the floor like a tap. Bakura pressed him harder against the wall, his mouth twisted into a vengeful grimace. His scarlet eyes flashed with satisfaction as the feeling ran through him.

He was taking a life. His father's life now belonged to him. He was _god _once again as he picked and chose the human race. He didn't want this one to continue, so he simply ceased it.

He father suddenly slumped and Bakura tore free his blade, and when that was finally removed, he fell forward completely.

Bakura stepped back, blood pooling at his feet.

No matter how much you loved or hated a person, you'd always step back as their blood laps at your shoes.

His actions, however, had finally attracted attention. He turned around- splattered in blood and bloodied sword in hand.

He acted without thinking, once again. He lunged for the person closest to him- the one clearing up notes. Bakura slashed his blade across the man's throat before he could even stand up. Blood burst from the wound, and the man gargled desperately in shock. Raising a leg, the Albino booted him square in the chest, pushing him back. Feet on either side of his body, he drove his sword through the man's heart for good measure.

By now, the other two scientists were already trying to escape.

The one on the computer had jumped from his seat- running the opposite direction to Bakura. With a maniacal cackle, Bakura gave chase, leaving bloody footprints on the floor behind him. When he was close enough, he lashed out with his weapon, the metal slicing through the back of the man's legs.

Bakura must have done something right, because the man's knees suddenly buckled, and he skidded to the floor. Bakura swiftly disposed of him by sinking his blade into the man's head, killing him instantly.

Two remained. One was frantically scribbling notes at the chamber, despite everything seemingly unwilling to abandon his post. The other was making a desperate dash for the elevator.

Bakura was about to stop him, but he didn't even need too. It seemed like he'd forgotten to put down whatever chemicals he was working with. His feet stumbled on a splatter of blood, and he tumbled to the ground. The bottle's he was holding smashed against his chest, and a petrifying scream caught in his throat. The liquid burnt through his chest like acid, and he began to cough up blood as his scream grew too powerful for his body to handle.

He fell silent, simply writhing on the floor in mute agony.

Bakura didn't bother to waste his time on someone who would be dead soon. His body thrummed with the energy of taking lives at will, and besides, he was still intrigued about the laboratories most loyal worker.

"You didn't run away." He called across the room, slowly sauntering towards him.

The man didn't respond straight away, although he did eventually turn around. He was young, and messy blonde hair curled around his head. He had a name-tag, but it was strangely blurred and ripped. It took Bakura a while to be able to read it, and only when he got closer could he see it.

Duncan. Not that the name held any significance.

"You're the last life I have to take." He spat, his voice suddenly feral. The thrill of the kill, as cheesy as it sounded, was suddenly taking hold of him again. He needed this so bad. He needed to take a life and get back that _invincible _feeling. "But I have some things I want to ask you first."

The main backed up, knuckles turning white as he gripped the desk behind him. His fingers crumpled paper as he appeared to be clinging on to it for dear life.

"You don't understand what you're doing!" He suddenly crowed, eyes wide and wild. "You don't realise what _we're _doing!"

"I understand perfectly!" The Albino snarled. "You took my brother for some sick experiment! My god forsaken father _stole _him from me, and I'm taking him back!"

Duncan's eyes narrowed a little, but it was in sadness as averse to anger.

"You're too late! There's nothing you can do now. Just walk away."

The sword was raised in Bakura's hand before either of them could register it, but instead of delivering a killing blow, he flicked the blade so it scored across the man's arm, blood bubbling at the wound instantly, staining the fabric of his pure white coat.

"Don't tell me to walk away. I'll only walk away with Ryou!" He hissed. "Tell me where he is."

Duncan glanced back towards the chamber, and watched the stumbling beast inside for a few moments, before turning his head back around, shoulders squared.

"You're a child." His voice was suddenly quiet and deadly. "You don't understand what you're messing with here. Walk away. Leave this place. Nothing good is going to come out of your meddling!"

A flicked hand, another wound. This time, blood gasped for air and changed fabric from white to scarlet on the man's stomach. The cut was shallow, but raw and painful.

"Everything good will come out of this!" His patience was slowly running his course. He wanted nothing more than to take the life before him as his own, claim it and savour it with every delicious gasp for air that the man would wheeze. "Give me my fucking brother, or I swear to god I will slowly drain you of every drop of blood in your body."

Duncan flinched at the words- tasting the truth in them. His eyes darted back to the chamber, and Bakura's curiosity got the best of him.

"What the fuck do you even have in there?" He tilted his head to the side a little. "What disgusting mutation have you bred?"

Duncan laughed- but it sounded ironic and sarcastic.

"Don't laugh at me!" Bakura was seething with rage at this point. Striding forward, his fist was raised before he could think about it. Dropping the sword with one hand until it rested by his side, his hand collided with the man's jaw.

Pain grasped his knuckles, but it was clear that the move had hurt Duncan more. He stumbled backwards, losing his footing and slumping to the floor. He clutched at his chin desperately, and it hung a little crooked.

"Tell me where Ryou is, and I'll kill you quickly."

"I can't." Duncan's voice was slurred now, his crooked jaw clearly hindering his speech. "I can't let you." He glanced back at the chamber, and suddenly something clicked inside Bakura.

There were a set of steps adjoined to the glass chamber, and a ring around the outside that looked like it was for observation. Leaving the injured man, Bakura raced towards it, fists banging against the glass as soon as he got to it.

"He's in here, isn't he?!" He croaked. "What have you done to him? Let him out!" Fists pounded against the glass, as if Bakura wanted to break it himself.

"Listen to me!" Duncan was on his feet again, although all he could do was simply lean on the desk behind him. "You have to listen… to me."

Bakura turned his head, although he didn't move. He didn't speak, however, seemingly obeying the request.

"You can't let him out. I'm sorry, but you can't. You don't understand. Your brother's sacrifice has saved the world!" He was begging now. "I'm so sorry this has happened to you. I'm sorry that it had to be _you. _But it's happened. And I'm begging you. Please don't do this. This is an affair that you don't understand. Go home. We'll forget everything that's happened here. Go home and live your life."

Bakura's eyes narrowed in fury and… misery. He gritted his teeth as he slowly returned towards Duncan, sword dragging on the floor.

He didn't care about what Duncan was saying. He didn't care in the slightest. All he knew was that Ryou was inside that chamber. His brother was inside there, and he needed to get him out. A rational part of him was begging him to consider the words of the blonde, but he ignored them. It was all he could do.

"Give me my brother."

"I can't do th-…"

Duncan's words were cut off as a sword met his throat. It slit through the skin with horrible ease, and for a moment, the cut was beautifully clean.

But then the ripped skin suddenly burst into colour as scarlet liquid burst from the wound, curving down his neck, collecting in his collarbone, and falling like a melting one-toned rainbow down the ivory scientist coat.

Duncan gargled for a moment, as if trying to speak. Hands clutched at the wound on his throat, but he couldn't stem the bleeding. He halted for a moment, before clumsily slumping backwards, blood pulsing from his injury in time to Bakura's heartbeat.

Silence followed.

And then some more.

Duncan was still now, eyes glazed and lifeless as his soul departed.

Bakura let his sword drop to the floor with a clang, and he darted forward. Heaving away the body that was now a complete dead weight in a matter of seconds, his eyes desperately scanned the desk. He didn't really know what he was looking for, per say, only a vague idea. A button. A switch. Instructions. Notes, anything. Anything to get his brother out of that god forbidden fucking chamber.

He must have been looking for at least half an hour before he found anything substantial. He'd searched almost everywhere, all around the chamber, the desk, the computer and bookshelves and _everywhere. _By then, the room stunk of death. Curdled blood and drying wounds. Every breath of air was stale at the lack of living beings in the room. It was slowly starting to suffocate Bakura, and he feared that he'd fall prey to the dizziness that lurked on the edge of his mind.

But before he could start to panic, he found something.

He had upturned a desk that held a rather hefty computer, and his arms ached with the effort. The machine was lying broken and smashed a little way away, when Bakura found a small, white button on the wall.

There was a square of caution tape around it, and the button itself was pristine and clean like it hadn't been touched in quite a while. There was a small label at the top, but it said nothing more than 'Caution!' in block, black letters.

Bakura looked at it cautiously – pun intended – for a moment. This could be what he was looking for but he had to remind himself he was in a laboratory. Despite its run-down exterior, the room itself he was in was incredibly high-tech. The button could do anything. It could open the chamber, but it could also do something that could harm - or possibly kill - him.

But, throwing caution into the wind, and ripping off the caution sticker and tape for a good, ironical measure, he extended his fingers, pressing them against the buttons surface, and pushing.

There was the sound of grinding metal briefly, as if something had begun to hit against something else. It lasted a few seconds before the horrible noise subsided into the sound of hissing steam.

He stood up, glancing towards the chamber. This was either about to go very bad, or it could be his ticket out of here with his brother, finally.

Steam suddenly covered the chamber, twisting in curled patterns that shielded it from complete view. Bakura was vaguely aware that he'd left his sword on the floor, leaving him defenceless, but before he could move, there was the sound of thick glass sliding, and the smoke began to clear.

And the result of a father's selfish choices and dedication to his work was clear. The result of an older brother desperate to protect his own blood was clear. It was clear.

And Bakura couldn't quite believe his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/n: Song suggestions to listen to while reading this are 'Angels', 'Sunset', and 'Missing' all by The xx. Also, 'Through Glass' by Stone Sour. This is, of course, merely a suggestion. While writing this chapter, these worked quite well for me. Thank you very much for your reviews- they mean an awful lot to me. I'm starting school tomorrow, so my chapters may be a little slow. But the more reviews I get, the more inspired I get to write. I was unable to get my proof-reader to check this over for me due to personal issues, so I apologize for any mistakes.**

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Bakura's first reaction, logically, would to have been to dive for his sword in able to protect himself.

But in that moment, Bakura wasn't thinking very logically. His mind was telling him the smoke had cleared and he needed to focus his eyes to see what was before him, but at the same time he couldn't believe it. How could the smoke have cleared? This was not what he was expecting. This was not what was in the chamber. The smoke was still there. Something was blocking out the truth.

And even when his brother lunged for him, mouth open and baring vicious looking fangs in a torn and decapitated jaw, Bakura could not find it in him to get his sword. And when his brothers eyes- unnaturally large and wide, sightless and as white as Bakura's albino skin, glared at his brother with such hunger, Bakura could not find it in him to get his sword.

Bakura was surprised by the speed- but then again, in his state of shock, he would be surprised if he looked down and saw his own arm. He was in a right enough mind, or maybe his instincts were just keeping him alive, to leap out of the way. His leap fell short, however, and he stumbled on a slick of blood, sending him painfully tumbling to the ground in a messy heap. Grabbing at the floor behind him, he desperately pulled himself back, the shock fading, replaced by a heavy sense of dread.

It wasn't out of personal choice that he suddenly found his hands curving and grasping his sword. If anything, it was like his body had taken over as his wounded mind tried to process the events. All he knew was that that beast in front of him- no, his brother- wasn't something to take lightly.

Ryou had come to a bit of a standstill, watching Bakura with those pale, wide eyes. There were no pupils, nothing to suggest he could actually see, but the way he seemed to be directly watching the albino sent a shiver through him.

In that moment, that very shiver, Bakura finally accepted that the smoke had cleared. But only to an extent. An extent that he was able to observe the change in his brother, but that didn't mean he didn't believe it was still him.

Ryou stood before Bakura. His white hair was very much the same, if anything, looking a little lank. His eyes, as mentioned before, were unnaturally stretched wide, their old brown colouring nothing more than blank whiteness.

But as Bakura's eyes moved down, he saw the extent of it.

Ryou's jaw was very much hanging at the hinges. The skin at the side of his flesh was torn, and hanging awkwardly. Some of the flesh still connected from the top and bottom, although it looked rubbery, easy to stretch and break. The majority of his teeth seemed to of crumbled, although his canine teeth on the top of bottom seemed to have done the complete opposite of that.

There were like dog fangs. Sharp and pearly white and unforgiving. Anything that they clamped down on had no real chance of escaping in a million years.

Ryou was still wearing the shirt Bakura had watched him be dragged away in- the white-and-black striped shirt that they both favoured. The right sleeve, however, appeared to have been completely torn off, and was speckled with blood. The bottom of the shirt was equally as dirty, grime and all sorts staining it.

There wasn't a lot of flesh that was visible on Ryou, only his face, which was a horrible light grey colour that made him look like a corpse, his hands that were covered in wounds that looked like every inch of it had been strapped down. But his hands were much like his face- just a horrible off colour.

By this point, Ryou had clearly gained more of an interest in Bakura. With a strange growling noise that definitely did not sound like his brother, it made another attack.

This time, however, Bakura was a little less prepared to move. He was still on the floor, clutching his sword, and he knew that if he tried to stand up, Ryou would be upon him before he had the chances to defend himself.

So he did all he could- he raised his sword desperately to defend himself, unease turning in his stomach. He didn't care what had happened to Ryou. He wasn't going to kill him. He couldn't. His brother needed help.

Something cracked inside Bakura.

"Ryou!" His voice was a desperate, hoarse, whine. He didn't realise that there were tears in his until he spoke, and they spilled as soon as he did. His sword was up in front of him, and before he knew it, those horribly injured hands were reaching to grab his shoulders, those pristine fangs waiting to sink into his throat and take his life-

No. No. No. Bakura was the one who took lives. He saw red, and in that moment, it wasn't Ryou attacking him. It was someone trying to take his life and that was _his _job! He was the god here! HE WAS!

The sword slashed through the air before he could stop himself, and with the noise of something incredibly slick squashing through something with the consistency of wet mud, Ryou gave a snarl and stumbled back.

Bakura realised he'd closed his eyes, and when he opened them, it didn't make things much better.

His sword had torn through his brothers left arm- seemingly slicing through the bone like putty. The abused limb was lying on the floor, twitching oddly as the flesh, glistening in the light, began to pool with blood.

Ryou look down sightlessly at his arm with… No. Not shock. Because he couldn't see. But he was just staring at the limb like he couldn't understand what had happened. Blood assembled and dripped at the stump that was just at his shoulder, splattering on the floor like a tap.

Bakura took his chance to finally struggle to his feet, and he stepped back, tears of rage still burning in his eyes.

"I'm sorry!" Bakura never apologized. It wasn't a thing he did. "I didn't mean to hurt you! You attacked me!"

Ryou was still standing blind.

"I can fix your arm!" His voice was a whine. So horribly unfamiliar on Bakura's tongue. Tears cascaded down his cheek. The truth was right before his eyes, but he refused to face it. Ryou just needed help. The scientists had injected him with something and he just needed some help and it'd be fine. They could reverse this and Bakura and Ryou would go home. "Just… I need time to think!"

Bakura had created a massacre. The scent of blood and death covered every inch of him, and there were gore smears almost everywhere. Bodies. Countless bodies that piled up all around him. There was no doubt CCTV cameras, and tapes of his doing that he wouldn't be able to find and destroy.

But he could still save Ryou. He would go to jail, sure. Go to jail for several years. Maybe the rest of his life. He'd be locked up and put in a white room. But Ryou would be fine. He could get Ryou and they could escape all of him. Bakura _could _save his brother. He wasn't completely useless at all. He _could _do this.

At some point, Ryou had clearly gotten over losing a limb, because once again, he was advancing. But he was slower this time, ever so slightly. And he seemed so off balance. The lack of his arm seemed to have made him in the slimmest part docile.

Bakura realised with a little bit of relief that without his arm, Ryou had lost some of his threat. He could no longer efficiently grip him, which meant Bakura would just have to be quick on his feet.

He clearly underestimated, however, as Ryou suddenly pounced at him just as quickly before. With another strange growl, he seemed to try to swing out and grab Bakura with his arm that was no longer there. His body twitched a little, and Bakura raised his sword in his own defence again.

He once again, however, miscalculated. As he only managed to repeat what had happened earlier. With the horrible slippery noise, and a dull thud, more blood began to seep from the fresh wound as another arm joined the other.

This, however, sent Bakura into despair. Instead of the feeling he got when he'd been killing and torturing, this act of violence sent horrible shivers through him, and he felt like a _monster. _He was hurting his brother and he didn't even mean to but he _was_ and he needed to stop because this was his brother!

The loss of his other arm, however, drove Ryou to a complete stop. The docile nature that had only been fleeting before seemed to take hold of him, and the younger brother stood quite still, occasionally making an odd moaning noise.

"Ryou." The words were whispered, and Bakura took a tentative step forward.

Ryou didn't move. Didn't lunge. Didn't pounce.

Bakura had fallen to his knees before he knew it.

"I'm sorry."

Silence.

Tears of hopeless fury were once again swimming in the scarlet eyes of the broken albino, and his head pounded with emotional pain that had manifested into physical.

"I tried to… I thought I could save you. I was going to. It's not too late, is it?"

Silence.

"No, it's not. We're going to get out of here. I promise you. I'll get you out of here, they'll fix you up, and we're going to go home."

Silence.

Bakura's stomach dropped. It felt like someone had suddenly made his entire chest hollow, and he didn't like it. His mind flashed back to yesterday. The 1st of December. It was his birthday. Everything was fine. Ryou was drawing and Bakura was teasing him and everything was fine. Today was the 2nd.

The 2nd of December. Ryou was never going to be able to open the second door on his advent calendar he'd begged Bakura to buy for him.

For the second time, something cracked like glass inside of Bakura.

His fingers clutched desperately on the floor, and an agonised moan tore from his chest. Slamming his head down, he hands came to yank on his own hair. He was shaking and trembling as the situation finally began to hit him.

He tried to speak but all that came out was horrible, weak wails. He tried to apologize. He tried to scream and shout and talk to his brother that was just watching him with those blank, emotionless eyes, but the words did not come. All he could do was pound his fists on the floor, trying to tear out the aching, numb pain that was growing in his chest.

He didn't know how long he remained like that. He didn't know how long he curled up on the floor, his chest threatening to shatter, surrounded by blood and gore, the smell of it slowly burning his throat. He didn't care. He didn't care. He couldn't find it within himself to care because he lost Ryou. He'd promise to save his brother and he'd failed.

He was vaguely aware that he could hear the chamber behind moving again. The glass doors seemed to be shutting again, but there was an odd noise like something jammed. The horrible noise continued, as if the machinery was just trying to push through the blockage. Every time it vibrated around the room, it sent another horrible pounding feeling in Bakura's head.

When Bakura got tired of wishing it away, it finally brought him up of his stupor. His head wrenched up, eyes feral and mouth displayed in a snarl of fury, but almost as soon as he did, the noise stopped.

It was replaced by two strange hissing noises, like something was being released into the air. But it was better than the noise that hurt his head, so he was a little more tolerant.

Now that he was up, however, he felt his body slip into another instinctual phase. Ryou was not dead. Ryou was standing right in front of him and he needed to get him out. Ryou was still walking around and seemed to be alive in some sense, so he needed to get him out, out, out, and back home. And then he could sort this mess out.

He stumbled to his feet, his body feeling weak and reluctant to obey. He didn't blame it. He wanted to curl up and stop existing, but Ryou gave him a reason to move. In turn, he gave him a reason to exist.

He didn't really know what he was looking for until he finally grasped the metal chains in his hand. It felt smooth and cold against his palm, and it seemed to pull him back to reality a little bit. The item in his hand was solid and real. He focused on it. He focused on it and everything felt a tiny bit better.

He curled his fingers around it, picking it off the table, letting it unravel. One end had a sharp hook that looked like it attached to something. The other end had one too, but it was duller and smaller, and looked safe to hold. It was almost like a leash. It was quite long, too, which was a bit of a bonus.

He was walking back over to Ryou before he knew what was going on. His brother lifted his head a little as he did, although he didn't attack. The loss of his arms- and his any means of actually causing damage or grabbing anyone, seemed to have completely mellowed him out.

Bakura paused in front of his brother for a moment. He avoided looking into his eyes, not wanting to face the emptiness that waited for him.

"I'm just going to hook this on your shirt." He didn't know why he was talking. He wasn't sure Ryou could hear him. He did look up, however, so Bakura took that as a sign. "Just stay still."

He pulled the sharp hook into his hand, fiddling with it until he got it at the right angle. Slipping a hand under the neck of his brother's shirt, he pulled it away from his skin.

His fingers brushed against it, however, and a horrible shiver wracked through him. Ryou was ice-cold. It was like touching snow. He was body was completely stiff and hard to touch, although Bakura knew how easy it was to cut. Even by accident.

Bakura started suddenly. He felt something against his brother's chest. It was an odd thumping. Almost like…

Almost like a heartbeat.

He didn't dwell on it. For if he did, he didn't have a doubt that'd it'd drag away the last of his sanity he was reluctantly holding onto.

The hook slid through the shirt just as easy as Bakura's sheath remained on his back. He pulled on it a couple of times, but it didn't rip. Which he took as another bonus.

But no matter how many little hitches of good luck he found, it wasn't enough to chase away the storm clouds of misery that were surrounding him.

He tested something else. Instead of just testing the chain, he unravelled it to its full length, and began to back up.

He had to tug on the chain a couple of times, but Ryou suddenly came to life. He began to stumble and walk, almost like a dog, and Bakura guided him around the laboratory a little.

He dropped the chain without any warning, letting it clatter to the floor sadly.

"Well, at least you can walk." He murmured, glancing at a point just over Ryou's shoulder. "That's enough. I can get you back to the house. We'll wait until its dark until no one sees us."

He picked up the chain again, pulling and directing Ryou until they were at the indent where the elevator was. Releasing the chain, he didn't really just want to leave it on the floor, and there was nothing to tie it too, so he simply hooked the duller barb into the thick of Ryou's leather belt.

He glanced down, and grimaced at the gore that adorned the bottom of his brothers shirt. Unable to help it, he took his sword out of his sheath. A little bit of overkill for just cutting some fabric, but it was all he could do.

Grabbing the shirt, he pulled it away a little so he didn't accidently cut Ryou. The sword slipped through the fabric easily, and he cut off the bottom of it, just under his brothers ribs. The bloodied scrap of clothing fell to the floor. It exposed a horribly skinny and off-tone stomach, but it was better. Bakura couldn't help it.

"There." He mumbled. "You might be a little cold, but its cleaner."

He slumped against the wall, tiredness hanging to his bones. He would sleep until it was dark. As soon as the sun vanished, he could get home.

"We'll get you to the hospital." He murmured, and he was surprised at how horribly sleepy his voice was. He didn't _feel _that tired. But, apparently was. "We're going to go home, and get you to the hospital. You're going to be okay. I-…"

Whatever he was about to say caught in his throat, and with a noise that sounded like he was trying not to sob, he drew his knees up to his chest, and burrowed his head in them. Blocking out the weird steam-like noise. Blocking out the world.

And if it wasn't for his brother beside him, or the heartbeat he swore he felt, he'd wish he'd never wake. He'd wish it so much that maybe his body would just give up as he slept.

But he couldn't. He couldn't wish that. Because he didn't care about anything but his brother. His brother he needed to get home.

Sleep was merciful. Sleep stole him away into her soft slumber.

* * *

Bakura had slept for too long.

Reality came to him ever so slowly. But it was not like the morning he awoke outside. There was no cold, chilled air to greet him. No harsh, dirty ground to wake him.

The air that came into his lungs was hot and stuffy. Unclean. Infected.

The floor beneath him was slippery. Almost like it was drenched in sweat.

Scarlet eyes flickered open, and he found that his eyelids were almost stuck together. It took him some time, but his vision began to become clear, and things started to make sense as he looked at them.

At first, the room in front of him was very much the same. Blood smears. Cracked glass. Papers everywhere. Messy.

But there was too much blood. Too much cracked glass. Bakura hadn't spilt that many papers. And Bakura distinctively remembered there being five bodies scattered across the room. His father, Duncan, and the three other scientists.

There were too many bloodied footsteps.

He heard a groan, and it made him leap from his skin. He glanced up, and realised that Ryou was still standing next to him.

And then reality hit him.

Ryou. Mutations. Blood. Murder. His sword. His dead father. Everything.

But that was it. He remembered it all, but suddenly it just… sunk into place. As if to say, yes, that happened. So what? Get on with it. He felt like he should be hit with the crippling agony of it all again, but all that remained was that horrible numbness.

He looked away from his brother, and fear touched him a little at what he saw.

There were five bodies in the room, yes. But now they weren't just bodies.

They were walking. With all their wounds and injuries. Walking and stumbling and groaning as they scoured the room. Slit throats and bleeding skulls. Bruises and blood. The entire room was swimming in blood, in fact. Like a shallow swimming pool.

Bakura realised what that 'sweaty' feeling the floor had wasn't sweat at all.

He moved a little, and groaned. His body was stiff and painful. His noise seemed to attract the attention of the monsters, however, as one of them turned his head.

Bakura's stomach dropped. It was his father.

He looked away. He hated his father. He hated his father so much it burnt in his chest. But he couldn't look at him now. His father was dead. His father was dead.

Ryou made an odd, hissing noise as Seth stumbled towards. Almost instantly, the monster stopped. It remained still for a little moment, before simply turning away, trudging to the other side of the room.

Well, it looked like the Ryou kept the other monsters away. Intentionally or not, Bakura would have probably been ripped to shreds without his brother.

He unsteadily pushed himself to his feet, using the wall behind him to help. His hands were slicked down with blood, but he managed it. His entire body was rigid, and he realised he'd been asleep for a _very _long time.

He hands fumbled at Ryou's belt, and he managed to pull out his hook. Holding it in his hand like a lifeline, he gently tugged on it, and his brother moved a little. He was still responsive.

He moved quietly, not wanting to tempt fate. In the back of his mind, that god like feeling was tempting him again. He wanted nothing more but to rush forward and take those lives once more, but he was too tired. And besides, there was something radiating off those… monsters. Like they weren't even alive. Like they were dead, but walking. The only thing about them that looked remotely fresh where those fangs. Those dog-like fangs that looked like they could deliver a killing blow.

Biters. That was a name for them.

He glanced back, and with a shock, he realised that that was what his brother was. Like them. A biter. Walking, but completely dead.

He shook his head. No. His brother was not a monster. Or a biter. He was Ryou. He was just Ryou and he needed to get some help, and he was going to be okay. His brother would never be one of them.

His grip on the chain increased. He hesitantly approached the elevator, worrying that it wouldn't work. He had no idea if there was anyway else to get back down and outside. He could probably find stairs, but the idea of trying to coax Ryou down them would be comical if it wasn't so sad.

He reached out and pressed a button, and there was silence for a moment. Before that strange, trundling sound brought out a sigh in Bakura. It was working. This was going to be okay. It was on step closer to the house and one step closer to saving Ryou.

The elevator doors opened, and Bakura stepped inside, tugging Ryou with him. He didn't know if he was imagining it, but his brother seemed a little apprehensive about getting in the lift. With a click of his tongue, he pulled the chain sharply, and his brother finally stumbled in.

Clicking the buttons for the ground floor, they were moving instantly. The strange feeling of being in an elevator clearly unnerved Ryou, and he moaned.

Like last time, it didn't take them long to reach the bottom. The elevator doors opened, but for a moment, Bakura paused.

He was painfully aware that there were possibly two biters down here. He'd killed them himself, so he was sure of it. Ryou had managed to ward away one of them, but he wasn't sure how well he'd do with crowds.

Reassuring himself that he must have been out for a couple of days- something that he'd placed to some sleeping gases being released, which would solve the mystery of the steam sound- and that Ryou had kept him safe from _five _of them, he pressed on, but slowly.

Pressing himself against the side of the wall and tugging Ryou with him slowly, he glanced into the small room.

It was like he left it. Papers across the floor, stained with rosy patched of dried and old blood. All manner of gore and evidence of violence, but no bodies.

Bakura wasn't sure if he was pleased by this or not. On the plus, he didn't have to deal with them. On the downside, he didn't actually know where they were, which could be dangerous.

A hesitant silence, before he began walking down the long corridor. Nothing leapt at them both, although Ryou stopped a couple of times and Bakura had to tug pretty hard to get him walking again. Kicking open the doors, he wedged a stack of papers underneath so they stayed open, before guiding Ryou through. The reception doors stayed open anyway, if you pushed them far enough, so that was easy enough.

He didn't at first see the sight that was waiting for him outside, seeing as he was walking backwards in order to effectively get his brother out. It seemed every time there was a bit of change- scenery, inside, outside, Ryou hesitated. When he finally stumbled out, Bakura turned.

He was blinded by the winter sun almost instantly. He also felt his stomach drop when he realised it must have been in the afternoon.

A shudder ran through him. But it wasn't because of his realisation.

He lifted a single foot, looking at his shoe.

It was coated in blood.

And it was fresh, mixed with dew.

Cars littered the road in front of him. Some were completely obliterated, barely being called vehicles anymore. Paint was scratched and covered in strange, red handprints that Bakura didn't want to admit to knowing what they were. Others were in better shape, still looking likes cars, but they had all taken damage. Some were half piled on each other, while a few had completely crashed off road.

Ryou groaned behind him.

It was also silent. Despite being an afternoon week-day, it was mute. Completely. Not even the birds sang in the tree.

Bakura freaked.

He was walking before he knew it. He was tugging on Ryou, not bothering to pause for his brother, knowing that he could easily keep up. He'd moved fast enough when he was trying to tear Bakura's throat open, after all.

His walking turned to into a jog, and he wanted nothing more than to burst into a run, but he had to make some allowance for his brother, after all.

He needed to get home. He didn't know what happen, and he was too freaked to try to consider it. He needed to get home and just get Ryou back home and he could plan what to do next. If he even made it that far. There were out in the open and if anyone saw them now…

He heard a shout, and he burst into a sprint. The biter-… No, Ryou was trying to keep up, but he was being half dragged. But that worked. That worked.

He just had to get home. He had to get home.

* * *

Bakura had no idea how long he'd been running. All he knew was that he was a little surprised that the hook on Ryou's shirt hadn't snapped along the way. But he was grateful. All he could hear was that shouting in his ear. Someone had seen him. A biter or a human, he didn't care. Both posed an equal threat. He needed to get home. He'd find the answers when he was at home.

It was his only chance.

His feet did, however, come to a slow as finally reached familiar streets. He passed a shop he often went to, a house of Ryou's friend-… He cut of his own thought. It strangled him a little and he decided not to think about his brother too much until he could get him fixed.

His legs ached with the effort of running, still feeling stiff from his prolonged rest. He had no idea how long he'd been knocked out, but it must have been a couple of days at least. Enough time for the world to go to shit, apparently.

He passed countless wrecked cars on his way home. A few of them had people in- not that Bakura stopped to look. He saw the occasional shift, heard the lament of an injured woman, and smelt the stench of fresh blood.

But apart from the occasional scream of pain or agony, Bakura found that the entire world was very quiet. Very still. And very much dying.

He was about ready to collapse when he finally got to his house. On the side of a main road, there was a rough path leading through the front garden to it. There was no picket fence, and there was badly kept grass threatening to swallow the path with its mossy tendrils.

Bakura fumbled in his pocket, pulling out his keys. He hadn't locked it when he left, but he was sure his mother had.

His mother.

There was a lump in his throat. He swallowed, and it didn't go away. He wasn't going to think about anyone like that anymore. It was easier to just presume… presume they were dead. Yes.

Because Bakura didn't care. He didn't care about his father, now a mindless biter, nor did he care about his mother. All he cared about was getting Ryou inside, and somehow working something out.

Holding the handle of the door and leaning on it a little, he pressed the key into the hole, but before he could turn it, the door opened.

His heart skipped a beat and he stumbled a little, pulling Ryou with him, earning him an angry groan from his brother. He straightened, and the suspicious set in.

Someone was in his house. They had to be.

He stepped inside, tugging Ryou with him. Closing the door behind him, he paused.

He was faced with the stairs that lead to his parent's room, his, Ryou's, and the bathroom. A corridor ran alongside it with a door for the kitchen on the side, while the corridor ended in a slight tail to the left, opening up into the very expansive living room.

Bakura was quiet for a moment, listening for any sound. His body flared with rage at the idea of someone being in his house, and his hand drew his sword in an instant.

He didn't care that it made a metallic noise as he pulled it from its sheath. It was a threatening noise, and he was determined to teach whoever thought they could break into his house a lesson.

Piercing his own belt with the hook attached to Ryou, he could use both hands on his weapon. There was no noise coming from upstairs, nor the kitchen.

And there was the ever so slight sound of breathing coming from the living room.

He raced angrily down the corridor, not bothering to conceal himself, Ryou came with him, and maybe Bakura was imagining it, but he seemed to be able to pick up on the rage that was rolling off the albino in waves.

He slammed his foot into the living room door, forcing it off his hinges. With an unhealthy creaking noise, the wooden access slammed to the floor, and Bakura was a little shocked at his own strength.

Not shocked enough to miss the person in his living room.

The intruder made a sound of alarm and backed up, clearly taken back by the weapon in Bakura's hand. His eyes widened- eyes that made Bakura falter.

Because they were the weirdest fucking shade of violet he'd ever seen.

He sneered at the incredibly tanned person in front of him. He was taller, yes, but Bakura was the one with the weapon.

"What are you doing my house?" He snarled, the fury in his voice shocking him.

The intruder didn't answer. He just watched Bakura.

"Your eyes are red."

The intruder's voice was strange. He wasn't British. That was for sure. Bakura could have guessed that by his tanned skin, of course, but still.

The words take him off-guard, and offense rises in him more than anger, and he finds that he is childishly defending himself.

"Yours are purple." Why is he arguing with this foreign idiot? He shut cut his throat and leave him to the birds.

"I think yours are much more intimidating than mine. And it's violet, idiot."

Bakura's mouth curved into a frown.

"I'm an albino, you parasite." He hissed. "What are you?"

"Inbred."

Bakura faulted, disgust filling his expression.

The foreigner held up his hands in mock surrender.

"I'm kidding."

"Shit joke." Bakura snarled, taking a step forward.

The intruder was clearly about to say something when his joking, sneering expression twisted into horror.

"There's a walker behind you!" He hissed. "Kill it!"

Bakura glanced around, a little distracted. A walker? No. That was his brother.

"That's my brother, you fucking idiot!" He took another step forward, sword rising.

The foreigner blinked.

"Your brother is a walker?"

"My brother's name is Ryou!" He snarled, slashing his sword down onto the coffee table in fury. He didn't know why he hadn't just lodged it in that idiot's skull. The wooden furniture cracked, wobbling a little.

"Calm the fuck down." The foreigner snarled, although he realised that was the wrong thing to say when fury danced in Bakura's eyes twice as strong. "I mean, shut up. Or something. You're going to attract every fucking walker in a ten mile radius with your noise!"

Bakura didn't reply, just getting his sword comfortable in his hand.

"My name is Marik." The foreigner finally identified himself. Marik, huh? Stupid name. Stupid name for a fucking stupid person.

"Bakura." The albino spat in return. "Well, well, well, Marik, You have about ten seconds to explain to me what the fuck you're doing in my house before I slash your throat open."

Marik gulped.


End file.
